A/N: Hello my lovelies! 🌸 I wrote this little one shot a while ago, I think I was watching Legend and it just came to me. I don’t know what or why but it’s here soo enjoy my lovelies 🥰 I wrote it in like 10 minutes and I’ve not a clue where the idea came from just pure indulgence. Happy Reading Peoples! 🥳🥳
Summary: You always want what you can’t have.
Pairing: Reggie Kray x fem!reader
Warnings: Swearing, suggestion of sex.
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As soon as Reggie lays eyes on you he knows he has to have you. As his mother always says, nothing that comes easy in life is worth having and he’d be fucked if that weren’t a phrase invented just for you.
The bright lights of Esmerelda’s Barn shine through your mass of curls and illuminate your beauty as you enter the glamorous club for the first time.
After a sharp word from Reg in the bartender’s ear the rest of your drinks are taken care of.
“Courtesy of the Kray’s” he’d say, placing another martini on your napkin.
Every time you turn to see Reggie’s eyes raking over you and every time you offer him no more than a polite smile and a nod your head of your head in thanks. You leave a few hours later, not a second glance thrown his way as he watches you slip through the doors.
‘Alright then. Maybe she’s modest.’
When he shows up at your house the next day with a bunch of flowers in one hand and a bag of sweets in the other, your older brother answers the door.
“Think it’s best you leave mate.”
“Oh, Y/N not home?”
“Nah, she’s home. She just don’t want to see ya.” the ginger boy replies, chewing loudly on the toothpick lodged between his teeth.
If it weren’t for his keen interest in you, Reggie would have sent that toothpick straight through the roof of his mouth. Something he suspects you know as his gaze lands on your figure in the upstairs window - an amused smirk tugging at your lips.
It’s after that attempt that he realises you’re not quite like anyone he’s met before. He’s never met a woman ballsy enough to turn him down, let alone tease him about it.
The next day he decides it’s time to up his game. As soon as you leave your house he's there waiting to offer you a ride. But you politely decline, an ear-splitting grin spreading across your face when he slows the car to a snails pace and rolls along beside you. This has been the case every day for three weeks now. Not once do you accept his offer, and not once does he let it phase him.
Now though, as Reggie feasts his eyes on your body dancing loosely with a man from the crowd, your hungry orbs locked in on his own, a low growl rumbles through his chest.
He is done playing games.
Your companion spots him before you do, scarpering away without sparing you a second thought and it isn’t until you feel a large hand wrap around your wrist and drag you away that you realise he’s moved at all.
Before you know it, Reggie has you pinned against the wall. A strong arm placed on either side of your head and a knee pressed firmly between your thighs. He grinds himself against you in demonstration of his absolute power.
Your slender arms encase his neck and draw his face inches away from your own, forcing his arms to drop. His hands glide down your waist and onto that oh so delicious arse. Your plump lips curl into a smirk and he can feel the fan of your hot breath across his face.
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This fic is a re-post from my old blog so if it feels familiar, that may be the case ☺️ Reggie and Ronnie are two of my favourite historical figures. Ronnie is actually my favourite of the twins but for some reason I felt that this idea worked better with Reggie. This is my first time attempting to write with a specific London accent and I believe I kind of butchered it 😬 I wrote this with the real men in mind but this fic can be read as the Tom Hardy versions or any other versions too.
Flashes of the East end pass in and out of your vision through the glass of the passenger side window. Reggie is driving, one of his strong hands gripping the wheel and the other reaching over, resting on your upper thigh. His fingers caress your skin through the material of your expensive skirt as he drives at a slow, cautious speed down the narrow roads of London. Soft coos and the occasional babble come from the back seat. Right behind your head is little Judith. She is a mere 12 months old and yet she already has her rough, gangster father wrapped all the way around her tiny, delicate finger.
Reggie is a sucker for her and he hardly ever even attempts to hide it or deny it in the slightest. One look into her wide, dark eyes and he crumbles into a pile of dust.
You smile and turn your head to look back at her. She sits in her car seat, staring up at the window next to her and watching with wide, curious brown eyes as passing buildings and the blue sky fill her vision. “‘s she alright?” Reggie asks, his dark gaze flickering away from the road and towards the backseat for a calculated millisecond. You laugh, a gentle and quiet sound that makes his still face soften. “She is perfectly fine, Reg. She likes watching the clouds go by.” You note, watching the way her precious face brightens with a wide, bright smile every time the clear sky is no longer blocked from her vision by a dark, towering brick building. The sight makes a smile of your own crawl across your face.
You turn back in the leather seat, facing the road again and glancing over at Reggie. His eyebrows are stitched inwards with concentration as he watches the road ahead, slowly swerving out of the way of every small pothole or bump he spots to avoid jostling Judith in the backseat. The radio is turned down low; coos and babbles are now the preferred music for both you and Reggie, at least in the car. You let out a content sigh as the car turns into the now all familiar street lined with small homes.
Reggie brings the car to a sluggish crawl as he pulls up to the curb, positioning to park right outside of the home he grew up in. An older lady waves at the two of you with a knowing, friendly smile as she walks on the street beside the car. Both of you wave back, you raise your hand with a warm smile and Reggie raises three of his fingers up from the steering wheel with a polite, charming smile, nodding his head.
The car tires still as he parks, plucking the keys from the ignition and tucking them away into the pocket of his suit blazer. “Right. We better go in before mum comes out and takes Judy from the car for us.” Reggie sighs, though the small smile on his face betrays him. You let out a breathy laugh, thinking of how much Violet adores little Judith. Like any grandmother, she believes her to be the most perfect child in the world. Not that you nor Reggie would ever come to disagree with that belief. “I suppose we better.” You agree, your hand drifting towards the door handle. Reggie tuts, patting your thigh heavily. “Don’t you even think about it, sweetheart.” He opens his door and steps out before you can respond, closing it behind him and rounding the sleek car whilst you watch. You shake your head your head with a warm, knowing smile. You should absolutely be used to it by now, you should most certainly expect it by now, but somehow it still manages to catch you by surprise more often than not.
Reggie opens your door for you, holding it open with one hand and offering the other to you, helping you step up onto the curb in your short heels. “Thank you, my prince.” You perform a mock curtesy, holding onto his hand with the performative delicacy of a princess at a ball. He grins, a light and cheeky thing that flashes his teeth. He closes the door and moves to the back door, opening it and picking Judith up from her seat, holding her on his hip with a secure grip around her bottom as he smooths down her delicate floral print dress. “Come on then, poppet.” His voice dips into a quiet, gentle and soothing tone as he speaks to her, as it always does. He holds her as though she is made of spun glass that will break from a hold too strong or a tone too loud.
Judith coos, patting at his cheek and staring up at him with deep brown eyes that mirror his own. He shuts the car door and steps beside you, wrapping his free arm around your shoulders as you open the front door to the home and step inside, closing it behind you.
“Mum! We’re ‘ere.” Reggie calls out into the homely space. You can hear the kettle boiling away in the kitchen and the sound of a teacup being placed down upon a saucer. You and Reggie step into the living room. The smell of fresh tea and biscuits fill your senses within mere seconds. Ronnie sits in the armchair in the corner, his suit blazer draped across the back, leaving him in a clean white button up with a tie and loose suspenders. He is staring off into the distance in silence before looking up when he sees you and Reggie in the corner of his eye. His blank expression melts into a softer one, though still a bit bare and unreadable. He offers a curt nod, looking from you, to his twin and the baby on his hip. “You alright, Ron?” Reggie speaks first, breaking the slightly awkward silence that had floated into the room. “Yeah. Yeah, ‘m quite alright. You?” Reggie nods, looking down at you and Judith before locking eyes with his twin. “Yeah, ‘m well. Things are good.” His hand moves from hanging loosely over your shoulder to rub along your upper arm.
Violet rushes into the living room, holding a tea tray that she quickly sets down on the side table next to the sofa before turning her attention to you and Reggie, and of course Judith too. She is visibly eager to see her only grandchild, something that makes you smile as you watch her. “‘ello, mum.” Reggie says, leaning down to press a quick kiss against her cheek. She pats his shoulder, hardly even looking his way. She adores her sons and always has but with Judith being here? She succumbs to the draw of a baby instead of her now grown up sons. Violet looks at you, a soft kind of paternal love flowing in her gaze as she assesses you. She has viewed you as her very own daughter for years now. She did not at the start. You had to work your way there, but now? She knows you are the perfect one for her Reggie. “How are you, love? You look a bit skinny. Beautiful as usual, but skinny. Is Reg feeding you enough?” You snort a laugh, looking over at Reggie who is shaking his head with a small smile of his own. “Of course he is, Vi. You know I make him take me out to dinner at least once a week.” The answer is both a truth and a lie. Reggie is a busy man to say the very least but he takes you out for dinner at least once a week, but it is he who makes the plans. The man loves nothing more than spoiling you when he has the time to. Money is never an issue in the slightest. In the more so life the both Reggie and Ronnie live that arouses particular problems and time is always the biggest issue at hand. Since having Judith, Reggie has tried his best to improve upon that problem.
Violet shifts her sights to the baby held on his hip, letting out an enamoured sigh. “Oh, look at the little love. She looks so much like Reggie… And she’s gotten bigger since last time!” She coos, reaching a hand out to gently brush some of her wispy dark brown hair back. Violet herds the two of you to sit down on the sofa with her hands, moving to sit opposite you and pouring some fresh tea into the fragile cups. Reggie settles Judith on his lap, though she remains there for all of a mere ten seconds before deciding that she wants to be down on the floor instead. He helps her go to the soft carpet, his big hands hovering at her back as she climbs her way down his leg. You pull her plush rabbit from your handbag and hand it over to her, leaning against Reggie and smiling as you watch her immediately begin to chew on the ears.
You lean towards the side table and pick up your prepared teacup, engaging in some casual conversation with Violet about Judith and other general life things. Both of you avoid the topic of what Ronnie and Reggie do for work. Neither of you take much pleasure in talking about it. Reggie leans back into the couch, his arm draped over the back and across your shoulders as his gaze moves from Judith to you. His fingers stroke the skin of your shoulder as he watches the way your face lightens with a smile and how your soft lips wrap around the rim of the teacup with every polite sip you take. You sink further into his side, your free hand coming up to hold his that rests across his lap. He squeezes your hand, his wedding ring catching on yours.
Neither of you notice that Judith has abandoned her rabbit and is beginning to toddle her way over to Ronnie, who stares down at her with a blank expression but a curious look in his eyes. He does not say a word until the baby is at his feet, patting at his lower legs, outstretching her hands in a grabby motion and cooing up at him. “What are you up to then?” His deep, recognisable voice cracks through the domestic air. He does not talk to her in a way that most adults do. He does not heighten his voice to a squeaky baby talk tone. He talks to her as if she is simply a miniature adult. He addresses her as though they are having a pint together in a pub. It never insulted you or made you uneasy, not in the slightest. Ronnie is a complex man. He is a man that intrigues you and he is a man who you have seen a far more vulnerable side of in short, fleeting glimpses. You know he is a sweet man beneath it all. No different to your Reggie.
The conversation between you and Violet dies down as your attention shifts over to them. Reggie goes to stand up from the sofa, intending to go over and collect Judith from the floor and keep her settled in place on his lap. Your hand comes to stop him, landing on his knee and squeezing; a silent code for him to stay. He does, watching Ronnie and Judith with slight confusion as to what will happen.
Ronnie does not take note of the sudden quietness of the living room. His focus is entirely on the baby gripping the lower half of his suit trousers and attempting to climb his long legs. He leans over, bringing his big hands into position beneath her armpits before lifting her up and holding her out at an arms length in front of him. She squeals with excitement at the sudden gained height, not at all uncomfortable in the far off hold of unsureness. Ronnie furrows his eyebrows, staring at her as she looks back at him. You can tell that he has no real idea of what to do now. You can tell that now that he has picked her up, his mind is drawing a complete blank on what is supposed to come next. “You’re an ‘eavy little thing…” He mumbles to himself. You stifle a laugh, knowing that she is heavier than most children her age due to none other than Reggie himself, who sneaks her little treats whenever you dare to look away.
The real surprise comes when Judith outstretches her chubby hands towards him, moving them wildly in the air at him as though she is kneading a phantom dough. She squeaks out an ecstatic and wanting sound before huffing. “Papa!” She babbles, reaching out and attempting to grab onto his nose. She repeats the word two more times, her babbles growing more upset and confused from the fact that her supposed “papa” is not bringing her in and smothering her in kisses as usual. You can feel your mouth drop open by the smallest amount as you realise what is happening.
Judith is mistaking him for Reggie.
His recognisable glasses are off and sitting beside his emptied teacup on the side table. He looks more like Reggie than ever, especially in the still adapting eyes of a child. This has never happened before. She had given him a few confused and suspicious side glances when she was a baby, but she had never flat out confused him for Reggie. Your husband sits stiff beside you, bewildered at what is happening as he watches Judith grab at Ronnie.
Ronnie makes a strangled noise in his throat. The sound is both confused and almost uncomfortable. He does not know how to feel. “No… No, not me, love.” He says, his voice softening into a tone that you have never quite heard from him before as he addresses her. “Your dad is over there… Go on over to ‘im now, yeah?” Ronnie sets her back down on the carpet, sitting her down so that she is facing towards you and Reggie instead of himself. His wide palm hovers above her head with a moment of hesitation before he delivers a stiff, gentle pat to the top of her head as he pulls his hands back from placing her down.
You bring your hand to cover your mouth, stifling a light laugh as you watch the interaction. Reggie leans forward on the sofa, stretching his arms out to guide Judith back towards him. Her little face lights up with recognition as she begins to crawl her way towards him with eager haste, babbling and squealing along the way. “Come ‘ere, poppet. ‘m over ‘ere, you silly girl.” Reggie takes her up into his arms with a quiet “hup” and places her on his knee so that she is facing him.
Judith squeaks as she reaches out towards him, fiddling with his expensive tie and attempting to lift it into her mouth, which he gently stops her from doing, not wanting her to mouth at a piece of fabric that he has been wearing for hours now. You pick her discarded rabbit up from the floor and hand it to Reggie, watching with a hand still held over your mouth as he attempts to entertain her with the soft toy. She looks right past it and at him instead, babbling out a high pitched string of “papa” and other unintelligible words as he bounces his knee. But then, she looks back over her shoulder towards Ronnie. Then, she looks back at Reggie again. Her face is confused and her tiny eyebrows are furrowed inwards. She repeats “papa” once more. This time, it sounds confused and more like a flabbergasted question than anything.
The laugh you were holding in begins to spill past your lips as she looks back and forth between Reggie and Ronnie. Reggie cracks a smile of his own, stroking her back as her wide eyes gaze up at him. “Me, I am papa. That there-” He points at Ronnie. “That’s uncle Ronnie, poppet.” He finishes. Ronnie nods in silent agreement, moving to put on his glasses. His glasses are what seem to break the illusion entirely for little Judith.
Almost immediately after he slips the glasses onto his face, she makes a disgruntled sounding noise akin to a grumble and scoots further against Reggie, who nestles her into his chest with a low chuckle. Judith looks up at him, his chuckle rumbling and offering a comforting vibration against the side of her head. She pats his chest and looks over at you, wide brown eyes set in decision making and confidence. “Papa.” She confirms, still patting his chest as she glances between you and Reggie. You lean your head down on his shoulder, looking down at her as she curls up on his lap, still clutching the plush rabbit that he had gotten her before she was even born.
You bring a hand up to stroke his combed back hair with a smile before moving it down to stroke her smooth cheek, watching as she leans further into your touch the same way Reggie does. “Yes, lovey. This one here is your papa.” Your voice is still slightly breathy from laughing at the lighthearted situation.
It is a rare occurrence for the twins to be in the same room without talking about their work but this is one of the few times that neither of them do it. Instead, the five of you sit in a comfortable silence, interrupted only by the sound of soft baby coos and quiet conversation. You smile as you glance up at Reggie, your head still leaning against his shoulder. You watch the way his eyes gaze at Judith with a look of gentle wonderment at how it was possible that he had a part in creating something so lovely. You watch as he pretends to not notice as she begins to chew on the end of his tie, planting a light kiss to her head and taking a sip of his tea that he holds off to the side as to not spill any of the liquid on her.
You sit in the warm living room that smells of tea and sweet biscuits and feels like a second home and wonder how you had gotten so lucky, surrounded by the warmth of love.
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i am 20, use he/him pronouns and am trans and gay asf. i have a boyfriend so BACK OFFFF
im a therian if that interests any of you!! my theriotype is a black wolf :3
i am an rpf shipper and rpf yumeshipper too!! if that makes you uncomfy well how did you stumble on my account in the first place??/silly
my list of nf/o’s are (all non sharing apart from simon who i am ehh about sharing)
- tony hadley (spandau ballet)
- brian jones (the Rolling Stones)
- john taylor (duran duran)
- simon le bon (duran duran)
- possibly the Kray twins as well….
i really love 80s music (if you couldn’t tell) and am also a hugggeee war nerd specifically for german history and RAF history :)) pls do send asks about it id love more mutuals!!
i am a kray twincest shipper but apart from that, proship and comship people please dni, idc what you do just don’t do it around me. same goes for endo systems im neutral on that i have better things to worry about
other dnis include
- basic dni (zoo, homophobe, transphobe etc)
- radqueer/radfem
- transmisandrists
- transmed/anti xenogender
other than that feel free to scroll my page and i hope you come back soon!!! >u<
Reg Kray’s wife said it herself: ‘I’m like a bird in a big cage.’ Death was the only way out . . . and she took it in the end
by RICHARD HERD
REG KRAY needed a beautiful woman to grace his table on image-building sorties to the West End.
He chose Frances Shea, 17-year-old daughter of an East End neighbour.
She was a gay, ex-grammar school girl—bright, intelligent and an easy and natural conversationalist. She was everything Reg Kray needed to impress the big names he craved to meet.
He picked her as any other man might select a new car. As a status symbol. An asset. An ornament.
After four years he married her. He was 32. She was 21.
But Kray failed to turn the chestnut-haired typist into a night-club sophisticate.
Her life with him was a nightmare from the first night of their honeymoon when he got drunk and locked her alone inside the bridal suite.
Despair drove Frances Shea to drugs. After 25 months of marriage, she committed suicide after telling her friends that the marriage was never consummated.
Three women risked their lives to break the Krays.
The full story of their bizarre relationship is told here by Frances Shea’s parents—Frank Shea, 57-year-old London Electricity Board collector and his wife, Elsie, 52.
“She was our only daughter. Her marriage turned out to be a cruel sham. He mentally murdered her. Twice before she tried to take her life with drugs. Both times we brought her round. The second time she said: ‘Oh, why didn’t you let me sleep, Dad.’
“Her dying wish was to be buried in the name of Shea, not Kray. She wrote it down in a note to us a few hours before she took the tablets.
“But the Krays took the funeral out of our hands. They knew the had changed her name by deed poll—back from Kray to Shea. But they still got Kray on to the death certificate.
“At least twice she feared he had a gun on her. Once was when they were sitting in the Palladium watching Judy Garland. Our Frances wanted to go home instead of going drinking again in the dressing room. He threatened her and kept poking something in her back all through the show.
“Frances told us: ‘I’m like a bird in a big cage. I’m trapped . . . I can’t get out of it . . . If I could get a gun I’d shoot him . . . no one will ever want me now. I’m defiled.’
From the day Kray began the strange, four-year-long ‘courtship’ he never allowed Frances to go out to work. It would have been wrong for the image to have a Kray girl earn her living at a typewriter. He took her to clubs, introduced her to stars, and used her to do his bidding. For a time Frances was impressed.
“But she began to get tired of it all. She told us how she envied our being able to sit round the fire watching TV in peace and quiet and she used to say: ‘While I’m single I can manage him, but if he ever makes me marry him . . .’
“It was Primrose Day they married, 1965. But we were the odd two out. They humiliated us. They did it all. It was OUR only girl getting married. But they wouldn’t let us have anything to do with it.
“Nobody was invited from our side. The other side was packed with the Krays; all their relations and friends. We felt like jumping up and telling Frances not to say ‘I will.’
“They went to Athens for their honeymoon. She said he once locked her in the hotel bedroom and went out and got drunk. She complained that he got drunk several times on their honeymoon.
“Then he sent her to Spain, Majorca and Ibiza. But he never went with her. Each time she came back he packed her off again.
“In the end he got a flat in Marble Arch. He cooped her up there. We sensed she was on the drugs by then. Once she told us he’d left her without food or tablets and that she was crawling across the floor in agony.
“In June 1967 she killed herself with phenobarbitone. She was driven to it. A couple of days after Frances was buried he ransacked her old room at our house. He took everything, even her underwear and £600 worth of jewellery he had bought for her.
“The Krays took over the funeral. They ran everything. He insisted that Frances was to be buried in her wedding dress. They were paying. We had to allow it. But we made certain that no part of that wedding dress touched her flesh. She was fully clothed underneath.
“And it was the little ring we bought her as a girl that was buried with her—not his wedding ring. We made certain of that. We were the last to see her. We were choked to see how peaceful and lovely she looked for the first time for years.”
All these words came tumbling out unchecked as Frances’s parents talked in the kitchen of their home in Ormsby Street, Haggerston, London, E.
Her father finished off the story, always referring to Kray as him or he, never by name.
“He made a great show of buying Frances a brand new red Ford for her 21st. All the neighbours saw it. A few weeks later the HP man was knocking at the door. He said the payments were behind.
“He took our girl as a teenager full of life and tried to change her. Frances once sent us a note saying: ‘He has a gun, a sword-knife, a chopper and a flick-knife. He used to slap me with the flick-knife. He used to stand there frightening me with his hands.’
“I felt like shooting him. But what chance would I have had? I’d have had to shoot three Krays, not one.”
